


The Night

by QueenOfNewOrleans22



Category: Mötley Crüe
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Language, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:48:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25885330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfNewOrleans22/pseuds/QueenOfNewOrleans22
Summary: Mick likes to think, because it's the only thing he can control.
Relationships: Mick Mars/Nikki Sixx
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	The Night

**Author's Note:**

> My favorite form of self-deprication is called...The Truth.

There's not a lot that Mick can control. He is living in a chaotic world full of manic people who don't give a fuck about anybody but themselves and that's a simple fact. It's one that he's gotten over in the years that he's been alive, experiencing the world in its most natural form, but that doesn't mean he likes it. 

Joining a band perhaps was not his brightest idea. Mick was getting tired of this lifestyle, despite the fact they'd only been together and really famous for a few years now, because he wasn't a person built for partying and drinking all night long. Despite this, he couldn't imagine a life where he wasn't part of the band, a life where everyday wasn't absolute chaos and attempted mutiny because that's just what he's gotten used to. He had gotten used to the yelling and fighting, uttered cursed and thrown punches, options gone unheard in the midst of panic. Maybe the reason they'd stayed together so long was because they'd just grown used to each other and leaving now was just beyond the point. Maybe they couldn't live without each other, despite all the craziness brought into their lives by the arguing. 

The ceiling was a pale, creamy yellow. ' _Weird choice, for a hotel.'_ Mick thought, listening to the honking of the horns outside, yelling, glass breaking. The room smelt strongly of alcohol and smoke, a faint cologne, something unidentifiable. Mick thought that it describes his life pretty well. "What are you thinking about, old man?" Nikki asked, legs curled up in front of him, dark hair and green eyes. Mick could tell that it wasn't much of a question, but he took it as one. "Life." He said, carelessly waving his hand, motioning into the air. Nikki groaned, tossing his head so that he was looking at the ceiling, too. His long hair fell from his face, exposing sharp cheekbones and pale skin. "Oh, for fuck's sake." He huffed out. 

Mick shrugged. He was used to such a reaction to his thoughts, ones that extended beyond sex, drugs and rock n' roll. "Hey, when this is all said and done, _I'll_ have a back up plan." He said. It sounded more like a warning than it was meant too, like an unspoken mix of emotions that it wasn't supposed to be. Nikki didn't look at him, just inhaled his cigarette and silently offered it. They were sitting beside each other, technically. Mick was on his back on one side, and Nikki was sitting on the other, but it felt like a distance had stretched between them, miles and miles and miles despite how close they were. Mick rejected the cigarette, and Nikki looked unbothered, briefly glancing at him before running a hand through his hair. It was tangled, and it took a minute of tugging to break a knot. "Damn it." Nikki mumbled, rubbing the back of his head before turning around and extinguishing the cigarette in the ashtray, which sat on the night stand. 

What were they doing? This strange relationship they had going on would not end well. They rarely did. Mick couldn't say whose fault it would be, or even if somebody could be blamed in such a situation. It might be a big fight that would end it, once and for all, or perhaps one of those mature conversations where wit was agreed solemnly that it would never work out. Nikki was cold and distant on even the best of days, and maybe that should've persuaded Mick to leave sooner, but then there were times when the younger man was like a dream come true, a piece of light in these dark times, and it made the yelling and arguments worth it. "Life. What a stupid concept." Nikki scoffed. He fell backwards, makeup smeared around his eyes, lips twisted in a distinct sneer. Mick frowned, "What's that supposed to mean?" He asked. The fact of the matter was that they really didn't _talk._ Not like they really should. They fucked and talked about music and then fucked some more. They argued and the topic of some other things came up, but there was never any real conversation regarding _them._ What were they, really? Lovers? Friends with benefits? 

"Why were we put on earth? Just to fuck it all up." Nikki said. There was an odd, full hopelessness in his shadowed eyes, a distant darkness that always hovered around him. Mick hated that darkness. But he didn't have any choice but to look at it and think ' _Stay away'_ even though it really didn't matter. "We've done some good." Mick replied. His hands were entangled within each other, folded on his chest, which slowly rose and fall. "It's not all bad." He added, as if to put emphasis on his words. He moved his hands so that they may behind his head, supporting it as he looked up and towards Nikki, who furrowed his eyebrows and seemed to almost consider Mick's words. It was a rarity, to truly be taken seriously. 

"Nah." Nikki said, shaking his head. "What are we even doing?" It was a rhetorical question, and this this time, Mick didn't bother with a reply. It was late enough that it could almost be considered day, and nothing had changed. Tomorrow would bring more chaos, and, more than likely, somebody would get mad and storm out of the studio. Life would go on. It wouldn't wait for them to get their feet back underneath them. Mick had to accept that, all for nothing. And he knew, though there would be no questions asked, that Nikki had accepted it, too. 

Nothing could change that. 

Mick had never been one for much sentimentality. Out of all the guys, he was surely the most sensitive, but he was hardly emotional. But love made him weak, both mentally and physically. When he fell for somebody, he fell _hard._ That was one of his many, many flaws, the weakness of love. 

Did he love Nikki? 

That was a question to behold. The idea of such a thing, such a deep, intense feeling for another man was shocking, mainly because Mick had never felt such feelings before for another guy except for the one sitting next to him, but it was comforting, in a strange way. Mick was weak for love. He was weak for Nikki, as cold and distant and cruel that he could be. Nikki had a way to his words, to the way he walked and talked, that made Mick want to fall to his knees like a churchgoer at prayer. 

"You need to stop thinking." Nikki said, plain and simple, voice blunt in that way only he could achieve. "It makes you doubt things." He said that in a softer tone. Twisting towards Mick, an unspoken emotion clear in his eyes, Nikki looked like he wanted to say something. He opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head. 

A million things they couldn't say. 

Nikki hurt, more deeply than Mick would ever know. But he also knew that Nikki loved him, in that way he resisted to say those things that he knew would hurt. Nikki loved him. He walked away when he yelled, turned inward instead of outward. Mick knew that he might never hear those blessed words, but it was enough. 

It would be enough. 

It would have to be- after all, it was the only way that this could work. 

Mick reached out. Nikki didn't resist, just allowed fingers to close over his bony wrist and pull him down. The distance closed. Mick could smell smoke and that cologne and it worked. He buried his face in dark hair and closed his eyes, weary of what would come. They would make it work.

There was no other way to live, in Mick's world, if he didn't have Nikki beside him. 


End file.
